


watch me corrode

by lunalou



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Angst, Ben Hargreeves Deserves Better, Drug Addiction, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Klaus Hargreeves Deserves Better, Klaus Hargreeves Needs A Hug, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Ben Hargreeves, Reginald Hargreeves' A+ Parenting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-21
Updated: 2019-03-21
Packaged: 2019-11-27 03:40:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18189299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunalou/pseuds/lunalou
Summary: “So, we need to stop the apocalypse,” Five says.It's silent for a moment, before Ben says what they're all thinking. "How do we do that, then?""Pollution is the issue." Klaus comments, unsurprised when everyone ignores him. "We've gotta go green."(alternatively: Time travelling, getting clean, and Klaus proving time and time again that he's an idiot - not necessarily in that order.)





	watch me corrode

When Five came back, Klaus remembers the whole ordeal being oddly dramatic, all blue crackling light and a high-pitched screeching that had echoed around the courtyard. Five had forced himself through from wherever he had been, had pushed the boundaries of the time dimension because of some weird math Klaus is  _never_ gonna be able to wrap his head around, and had landed on the grass in front of them, face blank and eyes gleaming.

When all seven of them go back, it’s different. There’s the same blue light again, bright and burning as wind whips around them all, but they don’t go anywhere. Instead, things shift around them, melting away and dissolving into the floor, flickering in and out of sight like a slideshow.

One moment they’re in the theatre, heat surrounding them from all sides as an inferno races towards where they stand and then, in a blink of an eye, they’re standing on an empty street. Then things shift again, tessellating into something new; they’re in an open field, the sun warm above them and grass dry underneath his feet, and then they’re in a busy room, people walking around them, through them, and then Klaus blinks and they’re on a beach, the wind harsh and cold as the salty air bites into his skin.

It reminds him of his longer benders, the ones that left him loose limbed and slurred for days on end, mind so full of colours and confusion that he never knew up from down – that he didn’t  _care_  what the difference between up or down was.

All the flashing scenery around them, the jump from a breeze to a dark room, reminds him of being twenty-two and doing anything and everything he could get his hands onto. It reminds him of feeling lost, of feeling desperate for anything that could help him get by without having to think, without having to feel.

It reminds him of days filled with cocaine and oxycontin and heroine and morphine and then whatever else he took when things had become, thankfully, blissfully, easy and slow.

There’s still the same pressure on his elbow from then, too, the cold not-so-there touch of Ben crowding in close to his side. It’s startling and familiar enough that his brain slips for a moment, jumping back to the first time he’d overdosed in an alley, but then he blinks again and the world around him is so bright, so alive, the blue growing in size, in strength, until there’s nothing but a harsh light surrounding them all.

Klaus looks at Five, heart pounding in his chest and skin feeling too tight around his bones, and see’s the other boy looking like he’s in immense pain, face screwed up tight and colour slowly draining from his skin.

Five is saying something but all Klaus can hear is static, a white noise that seems to vibrate around them all, growing in pressure and volume until it feels like his brain is pulsing in time with the flickering of the light, with the stuttering of the static. It’s gotten so bright that he can’t make out his sibling’s features, can’t see anything but dark silhouettes that shift in size and shape.

It makes his stomach roll, hands shaking where they’re grasping tightly onto whoever is next to him.

The disorientation of it all reminds Klaus of the time he got spiked at some dingy bar in what Ben calls the Bad Part of the Rough Side of Town. It reminds him of when everything had turned bright and smeared and Ben’s voice had been echoing around his head, cold presence forcing him away from the bar and out into the colder night.

He’s not at the bar, though. He’s not even fucking high.

The light spikes, blue drowning over him and the buzzing sound so loud that Klaus feels like his eardrums are bleeding.

And then, just when Klaus feels like his heads going implode, everything stops.

The sudden change leaves him spinning, the pounding that had built still echoing throughout his skull, and Klaus feels his knees give out from underneath him, the faint sting as they hit the floor.

Wherever they are now, it’s dark, the only light being the pale orange glow from a streetlight outside, but it still feels bright enough that Klaus shuts his eyes tightly and breathes in slowly.

The noise of his sibling’s sound like they’re coming from far away – Five’s groaning, Diego’s rough cursing, the harsh pants of Allison, all of them sounding distant and disconnected.

Klaus digs his nails into the wooden floorboards underneath him, praying for the churning in his stomach to die down and the ringing in his ears to stop. He does  _not_  want to throw up in front of all his siblings. Or at all, really.

Despite how often Klaus finds himself throwing up, he still hates it with a passion. He hates the burn of acid in his throat, hates staring at the mess of it on the floor – the food which he’d had to steal wasted, the water he’d drunk from a public bathroom tap now gone. Throwing up was so  _wasteful_  because Klaus never had any idea when his next meal would be and there’s no way he’d ever had enough cash for anything. Not if he wants his next hit, anyway. And that was bad, too. Worse than seeing the food was seeing the pills splattered on the floor amongst bile, small and dissolving and leaving him -

A cold hand touches his shoulder, jarring him from his head.

“Alright?” Ben’s familiar voice sounds by his ear, soft and serious and concerned. Klaus nods, shaking himself out of his haze and blinking up at the room around them, trying to take in where they are.

It’s not a dark alley, not an empty sideroad, and not the stuffy rotting bathrooms of a club. Instead it’s a small room, wooden and scattered with objects – an attic. A familiar attic.

“Are we in the Academy?” Luther asks, voice sounding both different and familiar at the same time.

When Klaus looks over, struggling to get his eyes to focus properly, he’s startled to see the blurred outline of the brother he grew up with sprawled on the floor, tall and lithe with messy blonde hair, in place of the giant presence he’d grown accustomed to over the past week.

And shit, had it really only been a  _week_? So much has happened – had happened – hasn’t happened. Klaus blinks again, brain trying to work out the logistics of time travel as his body shudders from the effects of it.

“Yes.” Five is the only one of them standing and is the only one that Klaus can look at without making his brain hurt.ffod “I calculated it right this time.” he looks over them all then, a small frown appearing on his face. “Well, almost right. Close enough.”

“Close enough?” Diego demands. His voice is higher than Klaus has heard it in  _years_ , face stubble free and empty of scars. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that I just saved your lives.” Five sniffs. “Again, I may add. No need to thank me, though.”

Klaus faintly remembers when Five had come through the portal on the day of their father’s funeral, remembers the confusing explanation the other boy gave about his consciousness being forced back into his younger body, and figures that’s what the other boy means by  _close enough_.

Christ, his head  _hurts_. His body feels too hot, a deep itch bleeding over his skin, and there’s sweat beading on his forehead as his fingers tremble on their spot on the floor. Klaus curls them into a fist, not wanting the others to see, and lets his nails bite into his palm instead of the wood, relishing in the familiar sting of pain that tells him that he’s awake.

Allison says something then, but Klaus can’t focus on it. Instead he chooses to focus on trying to force away the rolling of his stomach, trying his best to think through the pulsating thud from his temples.

“Hey,” Ben’s voice comes again, just as quiet as before but firmer this time around. “You with me, Klaus?”

Klaus let’s out a small hum, breathing slowly through his nose. He pushes himself up so that he’s less curled up as a pathetic ball and more sitting like the others are, settling upright on his knees. They look so young, Klaus notes. All of them look so, so young.

It makes something unpleasant roll through him, mind supplying the image of a sixteen year old Ben, the same sixteen year old Ben that’s been following him around for years, and comparing them.

They’re not dead though, surely. They can’t be. He can feel the bite of his nails, can hear the hitching of Vanya’s breaths, can smell the aroma he’s always associated with this house: polished pine and his mother’s scented candles.

They can’t all be dead, Klaus knows, despite how disorientating it is to look at his siblings – how unsettling. Klaus has been to the afterlife – has been rejected from it, and whatever they just did, it wasn’t dying.

“This is fucking weird.” He murmurs to Ben, staring around at his family. They’re all wearing the same stupid uniform they grew up in, pleated skirts and shorts with embroidered jumpers over their shirts.  Allison is crowded near Vanya who Luther has gently placed on the floor and Five is talking to himself, trying to figure out when they are down to the day, and Diego is -

Klaus blinks, shifting back at the intensity of the other boy’s gaze. He looks shocked, eyes wide and glittering with emotion, mouth slightly parted.

“Diego?” Klaus says. “Alright buddy?”

The other boy doesn’t react to his words. He just stares instead, skin a shade lighter and body frozen.

“The fuck is his problem?” Klaus mutters quietly to Ben, twisting his head to share a look with the other boy. Ben shrugs, a mirroring frown on his face, eyes flicking between Klaus and Diego.

“Maybe he’s shocked at how frizzy your hair is.” Ben says in a faux serious tone.

“Fuck off,” Klaus snaps, hands reaching up to touch his hair. “It’s not frizzy. It’s beautiful.”

“Sure,” Ben snorts. “It looks frizzy to me, but sure.”

“It’s not frizzy,” Klaus hisses. “Frizzy is, like, that girl who hangs around on seventh street, not-”

“ _Ben?_ ” Luther’s voice sounds, making Klaus blink over at him.

“Duh.” Ben scoffs quietly.

“Who else?” Klaus says. “Not like I know many other...” he trails off, eyes suddenly jumping back to Ben. Ben, who looks to be around fourteen. Ben who’s wearing the same stupid uniform as the rest of them. Ben who’s radiating heat from beside him, chest moving in tandem with his breaths.

Ben who is  _alive._

Ben frowns at Klaus, face so, so young and hair shorter than it’s been for years, eyes brighter. “Don’t you start-”

Klaus has moved before he’s registered it, cutting his brother off with a small, desperate noise. His arms are tight around Ben, hands fisted in the back of his blazer and face pressed into his neck. Ben is warm underneath him, is alive and tense and solid. He smells like books and soap and the laundry detergent their mother uses and is -- is  _alive_.

“Oh,” Ben breathes, arms hesitantly curling around Klaus. “You can-” Ben lets out a laugh then, arms growing crushingly tight around Klaus. “Shit - can you guys  _see_ me?”

“Yeah,” Luther sounds choked, and Klaus understands the emotion. Ben is here, has always been here with Klaus, really, but he’s alive. He’s  _here_. “Yeah, Ben.”

“Oh shit.” Ben’s voice is muffled in Klaus neck. “Wow.”

More arms wrap around them then, Allison’s curls brushing against Klaus’ cheek as she squeezes Ben towards her, the smell of Diego’s aftershave - something spicy and nice smelling - invading his nose. Even Luther’s there, arm overlapping Klaus’.

When Ben had first died Klaus hadn’t thought about how he never got to hug him goodbye. He was overcome with grief at the time, with a heavy suffocating feeling in chest, something that cut of his air flow and made him yearn for someone he’d never have again. It wasn’t until his brother had returned in ghost form, bloodied and scared, that Klaus had suddenly, desperately, wanted to hug him. To touch him.

Their family has never been big on physical affection. There was a slap on the back here or a ruffle of the hair there, sure, and sometimes Klaus gravitated closer towards his siblings than they liked, but they didn’t do hugs. They didn’t coddle one another. Their comfort has always come from shared glances of understanding or going to distract their father, but over the years Ben’s been stuck with him, sometimes all Klaus has wanted was to hug him. To be hugged in return.

He would’ve done anything to have a slap on the back well done when he left a rehab centre or even a slap around the face when he’d gone too far, when he’d taken too many pills and wanted to take more.

Instead Ben had to just sit back and watch, and Klaus had to accept that only being able to see and hear Ben in ghost form was better than nothing at all. He had to remind himself that it was more than anyone else had.

In the end, he would always choose Ben following him across the city than be alone.

(“Why don’t you go?” Klaus asks his brother. “Why do you stay?”

Ben huffs, eyes directed on the book in his hand and still determinedly ignoring Klaus. He hasn’t turned the page in over five minutes though, so Klaus knows he’s not reading it. Or maybe he  _has_  turned the page and Klaus has lost time again, mind distant and light and from the drugs.

“Ben,” Klaus scoots himself closer to the other boy, slouches close enough that Ben’s cool presence burns his skin. “Don’t ignore your favourite sibling.”

Ben doesn’t say anything and Klaus sighs, sprawling his legs out in front of him and staring at the peeling wallpaper on the wall.

They’re staying with Klaus’ latest fling, a man called Rick who let’s Klaus have drugs for the price of sleeping with him. Klaus likes the roof over his head, the food that appears in the fridge, and the bed he gets to lay in every night. He loves the drugs.

Ben hates the drugs, hates the estate the rundown flat sits on, and hates the state Klaus is often left in, bloodied and bruised and desperate for his next hit. He hates Rick most of all.

He’s been ignoring Klaus ever since Klaus accepted three lines of oxy as apology for Rick tightening his hands around Klaus’ throat hard enough to leave his neck bruised and his voice wrecked, squeezing and applying pressure until Klaus had passed out.

Sometimes Klaus likes it – craves the feeling of choking on nothing, of hearing the world fade around him as bliss overtakes – but this time was different. This time he hadn’t asked for it. This time it was unprovoked and more brutal than usual.

Ben doesn’t understand the crawling sensation that lurks underneath his skin, is the issue. He doesn’t understand how a crushed windpipe is nothing if it means scoring free drugs. Being high isn’t cheap and being sober isn’t an option.

Rick is pretty, too. He’s a total fucking arsehole, sure, but Klaus likes to think he’s using Rick as much as Rick is using him.

Ben disagrees, of course. Ben thinks Klaus can do better, that he can be more than the junkie brother he’s stuck with.

“Weird, isn’t it,” Klaus continues as if Ben’s indulging him in conversation. “That no matter how much shit I take, you never leave.”

Ben scoffs, carefully turning a page in his book.

“Okay, like, you leave sometimes, sure. But not because of the drugs – or. Well no. You leave because of the drugs I guess, but not  _because_ of them, you know?”

“Klaus,” Ben sighs, sounding frustrated and tired. “What do you want?”

“You stay.” Klaus tries to explain, grasping at his fleeting thoughts before they dissolve into air. “Everyone else left. The ghosts leave. But you don’t.”

“I…” Ben trails off and the coldness besides Klaus seems to vibrate as the other boy shifts. “I don’t know why I stay. I don’t know why the other ghosts go.”

“It’s cause you love me.” Klaus tries to go for teasing, but his words come out more questioning, voice small and frantic.

“Yeah.” Ben says quietly, fingers clenching around the book he’s holding. “I do, Klaus.”

“Thanks. Good. You too.” Klaus hates the lump that’s formed in his throat. He hates that the only person in this world who loves him is dead. “No homo, bro.”

Klaus lets his eyes shut and can almost pretend that Ben is real beside him.)

“Break it up,” Five snaps. “We’ll have time to play happy families later.”

“Don’t pretend like you don’t want some of this family lovin’” Klaus says, voice muffled where his mouth is pressed to Ben’s shoulder.

Ben is the only one to react, a small huffing laugh escaping him as everybody else ignores him.

“Come on.” Five repeats after a few seconds. “We’ve got things to do.”

The pressure around Klaus lessons then as his siblings move back, warmth and pressure leaving until it’s just him and Ben wrapped around each other, both of them squeezing each other tighter and tighter. “You’re a fucking idiot,” Ben breathes into his ear before shoving Klaus back and holding him at arm's length, eyes narrowing. “Honestly, Klaus. You’re such a  _fucking_  idiot.”

Ben glares at him, young face scrunched up in anger and so similar to how Klaus has seen it over the past ten years, angry and disappointed and sad and yet still something exasperatingly fond there, something that cares.

Klaus isn’t sorry for what he’s done, despite how regretful he sometimes felt. He isn’t sorry for the drugs and the fights and the rough nights, but he is sorry that Ben didn’t have a choice but to stick with him.

He wouldn’t change it, though. Having Ben with him for so long has been the only constant he’s known. The only one he’s cared about. The only thing that’s been keeping him sane, which is ironic, considering how many people think he’s a fucking nutjob when he talks to Ben.

“Such a fucking idiot.” Ben repeats in a choked voice, shaking Klaus slightly. “A fucking, fucking-”

“I’ll wash your mouth out with soap,” Klaus responds, own voice cracking slightly. He tries to blink away the wetness in his eyes, but Ben is  _alive_.

“I said,” Five says, appearing behind Ben in a flash of blue. “That we can play happy families later. Or unhappy families, if that’s what you want.” He reaches out to dislodge Ben’s grip on Klaus and Klaus tries to help by wiggling himself out of Ben’s hold.

He sniffs wetly when he manages it, swiping at his eyes with his fingers and letting out a small, slightly hysterical giggle when they come away not coated in eyeliner.

When he looks up he sees that Allison and Luther have gone back to Vanya’s side and that his sister is now sitting up and blinking at them all in confusion. “What- Uh. What. Allison you-” She blinks at them all again, eyes wide and face growing pale as she takes them in, tears starting to pool over onto her cheeks. “What  _happened_?”

It takes a while to explain it to her. Hearing what happened sounds confusing to Klaus’ own ears and he was conscious during the whole thing. He feels sorry for Vanya who’s trying to decipher the explanations Five, Allison, and Luther are giving her.

Five takes over in the end, snapping at the others to shut up, and Klaus feels a bit less stupid when Diego looks just as confused as he does at Five’s fast paced speech.

Vanya asks hesitant questions that get complicated answers and, despite himself, Klaus finds himself starting to tune out, instead focusing on trying to pull himself back together.

Whatever happened to his body when they came here has left him feeling sore and brittle, just like when he jumped forwards from-

No. Klaus isn’t thinking of that. He’s thinking of anything else, actually, like how the pounding behind his eyes has reduced into a dull thud. He focuses on the itch underneath his skin because it’s easier than thinking of Dave and then, suddenly, he becomes startling aware of what the most noticeable difference about being in his fourteen year old body is.

He’s clean.

There’s no burning, rotting itch under his skin, the one that craves the next hit, and there aren’t any tattoos on his skin. He has a headache, sure, but it’s a different sort of headache than one you get from withdrawal or alcohol or too many days without sleep. His mind still craves something, a whispering in the back of his head that demands he get something, anything. A voice that demands he gets away from all these people and finds something to help separate him from the world, from the badness within it.

Klaus hadn’t willingly done drugs at this point in his life, though, bar the pills he was put on when he broke his jaw. The pills that dulled the world and made things hazy and nice and –

Klaus hadn’t done drugs at this point in his life. He doesn’t really remember when it started – maybe with booze. Maybe with going on missions drunk or hungover just to get hurt, just to be put on morphine, but that hasn’t started yet. This body hasn’t done that yet.

Klaus hadn’t realised just how much different his body had been before all the pills and alcohol and the war.

It feels cleaner and lighter and – most upsettingly – it feels wrong.

A part of him  _wants_  it.

Klaus wants to feel dirty, to be high and bruised and a step too away from reality. A stupid, ugly part of him that Klaus hates, that he craves, wants it. A part of himself that he’s spent most of his life listening too wants drugs or booze. Both, maybe.

Ben’s arm brushes against his own, warm and firm and so different to what he’s grown used to, and Klaus snaps back to what’s going on around him.

“So, you took us all back?” Vanya’s saying slowly. Her eyes are bright though, as clever as always. Or as clever as Klaus remembers her being, which isn’t saying much for his muddled and broken brain. “To… Uh, when is this exactly?”

“2003.” Five replies without missing a beat. “A few weeks before I jumped into the future.”

“Why 2003?” Luther asks with a frown.

“I just explained why,” Five groans. He rubs his hands over his face, tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling. “I needed to get us to a point in time where we were all alive,” he says in a frustrated tone. “and that was also in line with the original timeline. 2003 makes sense because we’re all fourteen and that’s when we all started to push-”

“Who cares why.” Klaus interrupts, clapping his hands once and jumping up onto his feet. He rocks on his heels to distract from the way his body sways. Fucking Christ, his head is spinning, skin burning. “We just saved the world. I think that deserves drinks all round.”

“Klaus.” Ben scolds, standing up alongside him.

“We’re fourteen, dipshit.” Diego tuts. He stands up too though and walks over to place a hand on the back of Klaus’ neck, the action oddly soothing.  “Nobody’s gonna give us any alcohol.”

“I’m sure daddy dearest has something lying around,” Klaus needs a drink. He needs more than a drink. This day has been so long – no, screw that. This whole week has been too long. This past year. His whole entire life.

Ben sighs that same disappointed sigh he always does when Klaus can only focus on his own self destruction.

They’re Ben’s words, not his. Klaus doesn’t think he’s self-destructive, he’s just a realist who won’t pretend that his life has ever been anything but one utter shit wreck.

“I could do with a drink,” Five agrees. Klaus points at him with a frenzied grin, something in him hungry to accept anything. “A whisky.”

“Whisky.” Klaus claps his hands again. “Perfect.”

“You’re not old enough to drink,” Luther speaks up, frowning over at Klaus. “Not in 2003.”

“I’m thirty, you complete and utter idiot.” Klaus snaps, something in him so,  _so_  desperate. “Actually, I think I might be thirty-one now. So, fuck you, Luther. I’ll drink all I want.” So much has happened that staying sober seems ridiculous now. It’s not like he can see Dave like this anyway, right? Because Dave wouldn’t even recognise him and -

Klaus cuts that train of thought off before it can continue. He can’t think of Dave. Of the war. He  _can’t_.

“And I’m fifty-eight.” Five scoffs. “So, I think I’m more than old enough to drink.”

Luther glares at them both, eyes disapproving and mouth opening to scold them both.

“A drink sounds nice,” Allison offers, cutting Luther off, and that's that.

Five jumps out of the room in a flash of blue and returns with an almost empty bottle of whisky just as the rest of them are settling back on the floor in a circle.

“What are we meant to do with this?” Diego frowns, swirling the bottle when it's passed to him. “There's barely enough for one person to get drunk, let alone seven.”

“I don't want any.” Luther speaks up. He's the only one who refused to sit down, instead choosing to stand near the window and glance at them with a pinched expression. It's a look Klaus hasn't missed.

“There's still not enough for six of us.” Diego amends, eyes narrowing at Luther.

“Fucks sake,” Klaus reaches out to snatch the bottle from Diego, ignoring the other boys heated ‘ _hey!_ ’ and taking a long swig. It burns on the way down and calms the part of him that’s been screaming ever since he decided to go sober. “Don't be a pussy about it.” He grins at Diego, taunting, as he leans back on his arm.

Diego snatches it back with a scoff, taking a small sip himself before, after a considering glance, passing it over to sniffling Vanya.

“It’s all the old man had.” Five defends. “If you’re unhappy about it then, please, go ahead and see if you can find your own.”

“What’s the plan then,” Allison asks when nobody moves to leave the room. “Where do we go from here?”

“We have to stop the apocalypse from happening.” Five says in a tone that suggests they're all idiots.

Vanya looks down at his words, cheeks flushing and a look of shame crossing her face. “Sorry,” she mumbles. “I didn't-”

“Shush,” Allison interrupts. “It wasn't your fault.”

“But I literally blew up the-” Vanya cuts herself off and glances at them all guiltily. “I destroyed the earth.” She says in a quieter voice.

“It was going to shit anyway,” Klaus shrugs, trying to cheer her up. “All that pollution and smog. Humans have already fucked the ocean and the forests, dear sister. It was only a matter of time before we ventured to a different planet to destroy. Luther probably fucked the moon when he was up there, anyway.”

“Klaus.” Allison snaps. “That's not helping.”

“What?” Klaus looks around to see his siblings looking at him with varying degrees of frustration and amusement. “ _What?_ It's true. We've fucked it all up – by us I don’t mean you Vanya, of course - but  _us_. The human race! Such a selfish fucking-”

Ben makes a small sound from next to him, a mix between a laugh and a warning noise, something fond and annoyed all at once. Something familiar. Everyone else can hear it now too, though, and for the first time in over ten years disapproving looks turn on the both of them.

Vanya looks less upset, at least. She isn't smiling, but she hasn't got tears in her eyes either, so Klaus counts this as a win.

“Are you two finished?” Five drawls.

Klaus offers a bright smile, putting on his most innocent expression. “Not too sure what you mean, but go ahead, old man. Dazzle us with your conversational skills.”

“So, we need to stop the apocalypse,” Five repeats.

“Us two?” Ben complains quietly next to Klaus. “Why am I being grouped in with you?”

“Haven't we done that?” Luther asks Five. “By coming back here? We've already stopped the end of the world.”

“You should be grouped in with me,” Klaus mutters back, listening to the others talk with half an ear. “You can't hide all your sassy comments now, mister.”

“My comments are the highlight of your day.” Ben scoffs. “What are you gonna do without them, huh?”

That makes Klaus pause. “Are you all really that stupid?” Five is saying. “We've  _only_  travelled backwards. We haven't  _changed_  anything.”

Klaus hasn't thought about a life without Ben following his every step. It's been so long since he's been alone, truly alone without Ben at his fingertips or a desperate thought away, and the idea of it now makes him feel cold, fingers starting to tremble by his side.

“But we're back here.” Diego takes the bottle from Vanya and takes a sip, Klaus’ eyes tracking the action greedily. “And we know what to avoid. Vanya knows about her powers earlier now, we know not to go that concert, and-”

“What?  _No_.” Five cuts him off. “No no no. How are you all still. So. S _low?_ ”

Diego makes an offended sound at that but takes another swig instead of arguing.  

“Explain it to us then.” Allison tries to reason.

“We've only travelled backwards in time,” Five re-explains. “Nothing’s changed and – no.” Five points at Luther in warning. “Let me finish. We haven't  _changed_  anything. We're all back here in the same timeline of events that lead to the end of the world. It'll take more than just us knowing what’s going to happen for us to be able to alter the universe to a point where the world doesn’t get destroyed.”

“We stay here then?” Klaus frowns, skin prickling at the thought. “Re-live our life’s under daddy’s watchful eye? Because I’m not doing that. I refuse. I won’t subject myself to-”

“God, shut up.” Five snaps. He pinches the bridge of his nose, suddenly looking as old as he claims to be. “We’re not staying here, you moron.” Five levels them all with a flat glare. “We could ruin everything if we stayed in one place too long.”

“So, this isn't enough?” Vanya hedges after a moments silence. “Just us being here isn't enough?”

“It's a start.” Five snatches the whisky back. “But the earth is destined to end. The first time it happened I wasn't there and the second time. Nothing I did could stop it.” Five looks annoyed at this. “I thought my knowledge of the future alone could alter reality enough, but everything still went to utter shit.” Five drains the bottle with a pained look and Klaus watches the rest of the amber liquid disappear longingly.

“What do we do then?” Ben speaks up, making everyone bar Klaus jump. They're not used to hearing his voice, Klaus notes in amusement, something in him still rattled and feeling slightly hysterical at the thought of Ben being here. “How do we fix it?”

“Pollution is the issue.” Klaus comments, unsurprised when everyone ignores him. “We've gotta go green. Sort out our carbon footprints.”

“We'll have to jump again.” Five shrugs, answering Ben’s question as if Klaus hadn’t said anything. “It'll take a few days for me to figure out the exact equations and paths, but I can do it.”

“And after we jump again?” Luther questions.

“We jump, and then we jump again.” Five stands up then, cracking his back. “Now, I'm going to bed.”

“Wait,” Diego says. “Why are we jumping again? Can't we just stay here and fix it?”

Five levels them all with his why-are-you-my-siblings look, a frustrated huff escaping his nose. “I already explained that.” Five says slowly. “We can't make one big change.That'll mess up too many things. Instead,” Five cracks his knuckles one by one. “We'll have to do it one step at a time. Or, in this case, one small jump at a time.”

“And one giant jump for man-kind.” Klaus sprawls out on his back and stretches across the floor, shirt pulling too tightly over his chest as he arches his back. “Amazing. If that's that, I'm with Five. Sleep sounds brilliant.”

“What about me?” Vanya asks in a quiet voice. A nervous voice.

Klaus still can’t believe that it was Vanya of all people to blow up the moon. Small, quiet Vanya who always sat with their father and helped train them from afar. She was always separate from them, watching and observing and never taking part – not that any of them  _had_  asked her to take part.

The fact she had powers all along is fucked up. Their father is fucked up.

Their father who is  _alive_. Their father who is alive and is probably sitting in his office, plotting how to train them all for the end of the world.

The bastard probably won’t even care that they’ve already tried to stop the apocalypse and failed. Klaus can picture his father’s hawk like eyes staring down at them all, lips thinned in disapproval as he works out what sort of training will get them to become the team he wants.

_You’re my biggest disappointment, Number Four._

Fuck him. Fuck all of this. Klaus doesn’t want to be back here.

Around him, his siblings are still talking, Allison saying something soothing to Vanya and standing them both up, their soft footsteps echoing through the floorboards.

He wonders why Vanya’s the one to get all the comfort when Klaus has been desperate for help his entire life. Maybe it’s because she’s a ticking time bomb that could kill them all. When Klaus breaks he only destroys himself.

That makes more sense, now he thinks about it. Guilt and selfishness sum his siblings up pretty well. It sums him up, too. Why should they help him when Klaus has been turning them away for years? When he’s been running and hiding and only leaching his way back into their lives when he needed something. He supposes he doesn’t have anyone to blame but himself.

“Klaus,” Ben's voice cuts through his half-asleep haze. “Hey. Klaus.”

Klaus let's out a small hum, keeping his eyes shut as his headache thrums in time with his pulse. He feels tired and brittle and the air around him feels too hot. A small, irrational part of him is convinced that if he opens his eyes the room will be too small, the ceiling too close and the walls closing in on him, squeezing and suffocating him to death.

Something within him feels almost threadbare, his edges fraying at the seams and a bloodied darkness starting to leak out. Usually, at this point, he'd take something to stop feeling like this, something to stop the sensation before it takes a hold of him completely, but he doesn’t have anything at this age. Not in the house, at least.

He knows where to find something. He knows all the right street corners and clubs that look the other way.

A hand touches his arm, warm and gentle, and he blinks his eyes open to see Ben kneeling next to him, staring down with a determined expression on his face. Klaus looks to the hand on his arm in wonder.

“Bed.” Ben says, giving him a shake. “No sleeping on the floor.”

“Floor s'fine.” Klaus yawns. “Better than the garbage bin.”

There's a punch to his shoulder then, not hard enough to hurt but enough to shake the fog from his mind. “Bed.” Ben repeats firmly. “If I can get you into one then that's where you're going. No more floors, no more dumpsters, no more benches.”

“Such a classy gentleman,” Klaus teases as he pushes himself up on sluggish arms, not wanting to know if Ben’s smaller frame can support his lanky one. The thought of being carried is nice, but Klaus knows that the chances of Ben dropping him – on purpose or by accident – are quite high and they can’t chance waking someone up. “But you'll have to take me out for dinner first, sweetie.”

Ben punches his shoulder again, looking pleaded when Klaus makes a dramatic noise and reaches up to clutch at it. “You're a sadist.” Klaus complains with no real heat.

Ben just smiles at him and stands up, looking way to happy for someone who’s punched their brother twice in the past five minutes. Then again, Ben's had to go years without giving Klaus the punches he deserves.

“At least help me up,” He flutters his eyelashes at Ben, holding out a hand pathetically. “I'm old and fragile, you know.”

Ben snorts but takes his hand anyway, grip stronger than Klaus expected. “One, we're the same age.” Ben pulls him up and steadies Klaus when he stumbles, and Klaus takes advantage of the situation to lean into Ben's side. “And two, you're not fragile. You're one of the strongest people I know.”

“I didn't know you cared.” Klaus says lightly as they both make their way out of the attic.

“I don’t.” Ben says with a roll of his eyes. He nudges their shoulders together though, and Klaus thinks back to all the times he wanted this. He thinks back to all the times that Ben must’ve wanted this.

(“Klaus,” Ben’s voice sounds distant, sounds panicked, angry, and worried, so worried, so frustrated. “Klaus, c’mon man.”

There’s a cold pressure on his shoulder, on his cheek, something fleeting and not really there at all.

“Klaus,” Ben says again. “Fucking, just-  _Klaus._  Open your stupid fucking eyes.”

Klaus wants too, he does, but his head is thick with fog, with cotton. He feels a bit like somebody’s cut his strings and let him fall. He feels like he’s nothing but a broken puppet with nobody to take care of him, his only objective in life to being to lay here all alone and collect dust on the floor.

The noises around him are blurred, distant, and they sound like swirling colours of neon, bright and loud and mixing together into a brown mess, a dirty smudge, just like him.

“Klaus.” Ben says again, voice a dash of blue within the chaos of rotting browns and decaying blacks. “Don’t do this. Don’t fucking do this again. I can’t - I can’t help you Klaus, I can’t. Not like this. Nobody can hear me but you, so you can’t just keep...” Ben’s voice trails off as the colours bloom into a thick ink, suffocating him. He can’t feel his limbs, can’t move them, and his chest hurts.)

When they get to Klaus room, Ben lingers by the door.

They haven’t been apart in years, bar the times Ben stalked off for an hour or two, sometimes a day just to teach him a lesson. To him, having Ben has been like having a second shadow, except for the fact that this shadow could talk and make snarky comments to Klaus of its own accord. Maybe not a shadow, then. Ben was like an imaginary friend who was less imaginary and more like the ghost of his dead brother.

Either way, besides Vietnam, Klaus hasn’t fallen asleep without Ben near him for most of his life, and even when Ben wasn’t there, there was often different bodies around him – his war troop, other people in the crack house, the people in the rehab centre.

Klaus hasn’t really been alone since Ben died, is the thing, and the thought of being alone in his old room, the room in the house that his father twisted his very being in, is suddenly, unthinkably terrifying.

Klaus hasn’t had pills in days. He hasn’t even had weed. The meagre amount of alcohol he’d drunk earlier hadn’t been enough to even get his fourteen year old self drunk either and so, like a defensive mechanism, Klaus finds himself slipping back into old habits. He plasters on a smile and ups his energy to distract from his emotions.

“Night, Benny-boy.” Klaus sings, wiggling his fingers and longing for the GOOD BYE tattoo that used to adorn his skin. “Enjoy your bed! Enjoy your freedom.”

“Klaus,” Ben says. Klaus offers him a bright smile, pushing down all the fear and worry and loneliness that’s started to bloom within his chest. Ben opens his mouth and looks like he’s going to say something important, but all that comes out is a quiet, “goodnight,” so maybe Klaus is just projecting again.

“Night.” Klaus keeps the grin in place as he opens the door, blowing a kiss towards his brother. “Don’t let the bedbugs bite. Or the monsters. Or the ghosts. Or-” Klaus cuts off his rambling and lets out a small, totally not manic laugh.

Ben frowns at him, hesitating as he starts to walk away. Klaus walks backwards, going further into his room as Ben tries to catch his eye, Klaus ignores him in favour of shucking off his blazer and throwing it onto the floor, turning his back to Ben as he kicks his shoes off. He also ignores the trembling of his fingers as he undoes his buttons on his shirt, ignores the sweat building on his palms.

Klaus doesn’t need Ben with him. Or, well, maybe he does.

And that’s the problem, isn’t it.

Klaus has a long list of quirks and what’s a bit of co-dependency thrown on top of that? Co-dependency is way better than drugs. Drugs are still good though, are amazing even, but having Ben with him? That was great. That was one of the only good things in his life, even if it sometimes felt like a punishment.

It’s unfair to force Ben to stay with him now, though. He’s been stuck with Klaus for so long that it’s about time he’s able to live his own life again, to finally find some normality in their fucked up existence.

Even if Klaus’ own life has become dependent on Ben being there, he can’t force his weirdness on his brother, not when said brother finally has a choice in it.  

Klaus’ head still hurts, and his bed is too soft when he throws himself onto it and buries his face into his pillow. The room smells like the same laundry detergent their mother always used when they were kids and it makes something in him ache and burn and feel wrong.

The silence of his room drags, and Klaus finds himself straining to hear something else – anything else –  and then shudders at the thought of hearing deep, scared voices calling his name.

He’s expecting to hear something besides the suffocating silence, though. The shifting of Ben’s clothes, the small huffs the other boy gives as he reads something. Klaus doesn’t really understand how the other boy  _could_  read anything, but he’s long learnt not to question things too much. He’s found that thinking about it makes both his and Ben’s head hurt.

It’s always been funny to Klaus that his power is literally communicating with the dead and he still doesn’t have an understand of it, even thirty odd years later. Ben had been there in that theatre, visible to everyone else, and what? Could he really of done that all along?

Klaus doesn’t understand anything, really. How is he back here? In his stupid gangly fourteen year old body? In his stupid old childhood room?

How is he back in this stupid fucking house with his father alive on the floor below him?

Klaus thought he was done with all of this. He hasn’t even seen his father yet, but he thought he’d never have to again, had happily accepted that. Klaus never wants to see the old bastard again.

Klaus had started to- not made peace, no, but he’d started to accept his hand in life. Had taken all the drugs and the booze to handle his life.

The silence is eating him alive. It’s almost as loud as when the ghosts swarm in, when they scream and screech and their voices warp into something deep and dark and menacing. It’s only a matter of time, he knows, until he starts to hear their screams and god, Klaus is so fucking sober, and he can’t- He can’t. He can’t.

(He can’t hecan’thecan’t)

His mattress shifts and Klaus tenses, mind snapping back to itself. His arms are pressed against his ears and his fingers are twisted in his hair, grip tight and harsh as if he can pull hard enough to get his thoughts to stop, to slow.

“Klaus,” a voice says quietly. Ben, because of course it’s Ben. It’s always been Ben, even before he died.

Growing up, patience wasn’t exactly something any of them had. Everything in their lives had been full on and fast paced, a mix of panic and determination and strength that bled into a mess of protectiveness and selfishness and just. It was a mess. His whole life has been one fucking big mess. But Ben, despite everything, had always found a quiet moment for him.

Klaus could shout and snarl and twitch as things that nobody else could see, but Ben was always the first one to believe him, to comfort him.

Klaus has never forgotten the first time he saw Ben as a ghost. He’s never forgotten the feeling that overcame him when he saw his brothers wide, panicked eyes and heard his small, desperate  _“Klaus?”_.

Nobody had ever believed him when he said that Ben was here haunting him. He’d always felt more bad for Ben about that fact then himself.

When they were younger, Ben used to try and get Klaus to prove to the rest that he could see him, but nobody would believe him. Nobody  _ever_  believed  _him_ , especially when he was so high that even Luther’s four years on the moon had nothing on him.

It’s stupid because he knows that Ben, if he wasn’t the one who died, would have believed him. He would’ve listened and tried his best to understand and then, if he couldn’t, he would’ve helped distract Klaus regardless. Would of tried to help him.

“Hey.” Ben says again, poking at his cheek. Klaus blinks his eyes open and Ben offers a small, awkward smile. A familiar smile. “I, um.” Ben hesitates, and Klaus realises that he’s laying here curled up like a baby, arms pressed over his head and feelings woven into his posture, into his skin, glaringly obvious and so stupid.

Klaus forces himself to relax, trying and probably failing to make it look like he was doing something other than yanking on his hair and shaking like he lost his mind. He runs his hand through his curls aiming for casual, but knows he’s probably just giving off vibes of crazy. “Wassup Ben?”

“I couldn’t sleep.” Ben says quietly, kneeling besides Klaus on the mattress.

“Ah, so you’ve come to me, the master of sleep, to help you rest.” Klaus drawls, stretching his arms up above his head and trying to look as stress-free as possible. “Have you tried deep breathing exercises? Counting sheep?” Klaus forces his mind to clear. “Or, if that doesn’t work, I hear sleeping pills are a  _great_  solution.”

“Klaus.” Ben sounds mad – the mix of frustration and hurt taking Klaus back to an empty alley, body shaking hands clutching his last baggy of pills. “You’re telling me that you’re fine sleeping here? Alone?”

 _No_ , Klaus thinks.  _No_.  _Don’t leave_.

He blinks then, taking in Ben’s tried face and slumped shoulders, expression uncertain, which is odd because over the years they’ve never had to be uncertain about anything when it came to each other.

Klaus stares at his familiar eyes, dark and always so full of emotion, and suddenly realises that he can say what he wants out loud.

Ben’s seen him overdosing and shouting at the ghosts that haunt his mind, has seen Klaus twitch away from the shadows that grow and surround him, suffocate him. Ben’s seem him go through withdrawal and has seen him standing on a street corner, pale and shaking but so, so desperate for money. For anything.

He doesn’t need to pretend with Ben.

“You can stay if you want, babe.” Klaus can’t bring himself to be completely vulnerable, not when he’s sober and tired and has spent all his life trying to build a mask that Ben’s always seen through. “I know how to tire people out.”

“Trying to hold a conversation with you  _is_  exhausting,” Ben agrees.

“You haven’t slept in years,” Klaus fusses. “So it won’t be me that’s exhausting, darling. It’ll be year’s worth of sleep deprivation finally catching up with you.”

“I wasn’t alive, idiot. I literally couldn’t have gotten sleep deprivation if I tried.”

“You were alive to me.” Klaus tries to joke, but it comes out a bit too honest. A bit too real.

“Yeah,” Ben says quietly. “Yeah, I know.”

Klaus gives up on pretending then, body sagging into the mattress and everything catching back up to him. He shifts back towards the wall, making space for Ben on the bed, and twists around, choosing to stare at the dangling fairy lights instead of Ben’s expression.

He never turned these lights off when he grew up and lying here now under the soft glow of them makes his chest ache, the extra pressure enough to finally tip the scales. Klaus finds himself blinking away tears, breaths hitching in his throat.

He feels Ben settle down next to him, not quite touching, but close enough for Klaus to feel his scattered mind start to slow for the first time since they’ve been here. His brother radiates a gentle warmth and Klaus finds it strange (because ben has been cold to him for years now) but extraordinarily comforting.

“What you said earlier,” Klaus says, still staring at the wall in front of him. “About me being strong.”

“What about it?” Ben asks, sounding half asleep already.

“We both know it's not true.”

“Don't,” Ben sighs, shifting and pressing a gentle fist to his back. “Don't start this now.”

“I won't.” Klaus murmurs quietly. And it’s true, he won’t. Not if Ben doesn’t want to hear it.

Klaus doesn't ever want to  _start_ conversations like this, really. Not when he's sober and preferably not when he’s high, but Ben has seen him at his worst and Klaus feels like he owes the other boy something. A sorry, maybe, not for the drugs, but for Ben having to watch.

Klaus doesn't want Ben ever thinking what he's done to himself is brave – doesn’t understand how his brother could think that at all – and although a part of Klaus knows that Ben didn’t mean it in a literal sense, guilt gnaws at him anyway.

Ben has seen Klaus dead and dying and willing turning his blood into rotting mush, pissing away everything the other boy couldn’t have. Ben was forced to stay with him as lucid as he was when he was alive whilst Klaus couldn’t recall either of their names. They were both too afraid of what would happen if Ben did leave, Ben out of fear that he’d never be able to come back if he ventured too far for too long, and Klaus out of selfishness.

Klaus isn’t brave. He's a coward. A massive, fucking coward.

When he lets himself think about it, Klaus is so ashamed of what he's done, of what he let himself do. Anything is easier than having to deal with life, though, and a part of him still yearns for the sweet bliss of a high. For the silence that it brings.

“We can talk later, ‘kay?” Ben says around a yawn.

“Okay.” Klaus agrees. He doesn’t know if  _they_  will talk later, because Klaus can already feel whatever confidence he had in him die away, the flame being snuffed out by his own self-doubt.

“Thanks for letting me stay.” Ben breathes out after a moment, making Klaus blink in confusion. Ben’s voice is more asleep than awake now, soft and calm and having lost the rough edge to it.

Klaus realises then that Ben had come back to him, not because he had seen Klaus being pathetic, but because  _he_  had needed Klaus’ company as much as Klaus had needed his. Ben hasn’t known anything over than Klaus since he died, hasn’t been able to talk to anyone else or smile at anyone else or punch anyone else.

Ben’s life has been Klaus’ life for so long that he feels stupid for not even considering that the other boy would be put out about being separated from him.

As much as they might have pissed each other off, Klaus thinks that he and Ben are the only people in the world who truly understand each other.

It's a bit twisted, maybe, a bit selfish, but Klaus has honestly never been more thankful to anyone in his life for giving him Ben.

 

**Author's Note:**

> i know i have another wip but KLAUS. k l a u s.
> 
> tua in general, tbh. angst! pain! fix it fic!
> 
> thank you for reading, all mistakes are mine bc no beta.
> 
> title is from the sharpest lives by my chemical romance 
> 
> [+tumblr](http://lunal0u.tumblr.com).


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